even if i lament, i can't get out of this prison
by auroracode
Summary: Chuuya was sixteen the first time he died


Chuuya was sixteen the first time it happened, stuck on a solo mission that wasn't originally supposed to be a solo mission but had become one after a bandaged idiot had gotten stuck on bed rest following his latest suicide attempt. Mori had deemed the mission important enough to not postpone, but not dangerous enough to send another person with Chuuya, which was how he'd ended up alone in a foreign country.

Truth be told he hadn't really minded; he'd gotten used to Dazai, had even come to see him as a friend if he was being truthful, but they already did most missions together and shared an apartment, so it was nice to get away from him for a bit.

The mission had been to eliminate a small group who had been posing as part of the Port Mafia and trying to take advantage of their reputation, they were weak though and it had only taken a matter of minutes to wipe them all out. Or so he'd thought.

Perhaps he'd gotten too used to having a partner to watch his back and come up with plans, perhaps the group had had an ability user that could his eyes people, perhaps it had been sheer bad luck; whatever the case was, Chuuya hadn't been expecting the bullet that ripped through his throat. There had been no warning, no chance to use his ability to protect himself before it had hit, sending him toppling to the floor as blood bubbled from his lips.

Later in hindsight, he would realize that he probably could have used his ability to keep the blood from spilling out and clogging his airways, but at the time all he could do was lay there on his back desperately gasping for air as he choked to death on his own blood.

'Dazai's going to laugh at my funeral' he thought as his senses began to fade, followed by 'I don't want to die' but there was nothing he could do to stop it as he faded into blackness.

And then he woke up.

It was hard to know how much time had passed, all Chuuya really knew was that he'd passed out from blood loss and a lack of oxygen one moment, and then the next moment he was rocketing up into a sitting position, loud desperate gasps escaping his lips as he greedily sucked in air. It took him a moment before he realized something strange, his neck and shirt were still coated in blood as we're his chin and lips, but there was no longer a gaping hole in his neck. It was gone like nothing had happened, only the blood staining his body and the broken choker on the ground next to him serving as proof that he'd really been shot.

He wasn't given any time to dwell on it right then though, his loud gasps had drawn the attention of his shooter, who, with his comrades and their killer dead had apparently decided that rather than escaping it was the perfect time to go through the dead's pockets. In a different situation, Chuuya probably would have felt disgusted at the blatant disrespect the man was showing to his former companions, but given that he'd apparently just come back from the dead and his killer was busy staring at him with horrified surprise, no such thoughts had crossed his mind.

"You...how?" The man had gasped out, apparently as new to having his victims come back from the dead as Chuuya himself was to coming back from the dead, before holding up his gun and firing at him again. Chuuya was aware and prepared this time though, and the red glow of his ability had covered his body, stopping the bullet as soon as it reached him, and he hadn't hesitated to send it flying right back to the shooter and burying itself between his eyes.

As the man toppled over Chuuya had to fight the urge to fall to his knees and laugh hysterically, he'd died, he'd died and then gotten back up again. What the heck? He could feel a panic attack rising in his chest but he pushed it down, locking in a box in his mind like he'd learned to do any time something threatened to overwhelm him; he knew it wouldn't last forever, but hopefully it would last long enough for him to report the job done and get out of the area.

Despite that his hands were still shaking as he wrote the text to Mori, informing him that the job had been finished and he would be on his way home in the morning; Mori's reply of 'understood, well done' had come back almost immediately and Chuuya breathed a sigh of relief as he slid the phone back into his pocket. That was done, now he just needed to get back to the hotel, then he could try and figure things out.

As he stepped out into the night Chuuya pulled his coat shut around him and threw his hood up, not because it was cold but in an attempt to hide the blood that still coated him, the last thing he needed was someone seeing and freaking out about it.

Somehow he managed to make it all the way back to his hotel room without breaking down, but as soon as the door closed behind him he let out a strangled sob and slid to the ground beside the bed. He wanted to believe that everything was just a bad dream he'd had, but the missing weight of his choker encircling his neck, and the feel of now dried blood itching and cracking on his skin, told him it wasn't.

Chuuya had known since the day he woke up in the ruins of the lab that he wasn't human, and there had been many times he had wondered what would happen to Arahabaki once he died; would it die with him, would it be let loose to cause havoc, would it return to wherever it had been before it was sealed? There were plenty of possibilities, but he'd never considered the possibility that he might not be able to die, it had never even crossed his mind.

The thought of it made him sick, he wasn't like Dazai who wanted to die, but the thought of living forever didn't particularly thrill him. Living forever would mean watching everyone he cared for pass on without him, it would mean he'd one day be alone again, that one day the people and places he called home would be gone and leave him behind.

Why? Why was this happening? He silently questioned, Why was it that every time he started to think he'd put distance between himself and his past, something new show up? First it had been the Port Mafia and Rimbauld's search for Arahabaki, which had drug up old insecurities and forced him to reveal secrets he'd tried to bury; then Verlaine had come along and given him hope, only for it to be shattered; that had been followed by Corruption awakening which had brought a whole new set of problems; and now this, his apparent inability to die.

Taking a deep shuddering breath he scrubbed at his eyes, wiping away the tears that had started to form there, he needed to calm down and think things through; panicking wasn't going to get him anywhere. He didn't know anything for certain, yes he had gotten back up from something that should have killed him, but that didn't mean he was going to live forever. He might still grow old and die someday, after all, he'd aged since childhood so it wasn't like he was frozen in time.

Thinking about it like that made him feel somewhat better, and he pushed himself up off the floor and staggered to the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror made him very grateful it was nighttime and so there hadn't been many people out who could have caught sight of him, he looked awful. Dried blood coated his chin where it had spilled out of his mouth, the lower half of his neck and the top of his shirt was likewise coated and his face was pale, though whether that was from blood loss or shock he didn't know. Overall he looked like the victim of a murder, which he kind of was.

Turning on the sink he wet his face and scrubbed roughly at it with his hands, it would have been easier with a washcloth but he didn't want to risk leaving behind any traces that he'd been injured. Once his neck and face were free of stains he turned his attention to his shirt, it was highly unlikely he'd ever get all the blood out of it even if he had the right supplies, and quite frankly it wasn't worth the effort. Stripping it off he dropped it on the bathroom floor for, he'd have to dispose of it properly later but for the moment it could stay there.

Wandering back into the bedroom part of his hotel room, he dug through his suitcase to find a new shirt which he quickly threw on. It was unfortunate that he hadn't thought to pack an extra choker, his neck felt all too bare without it there to hide the tattoo on the back of it, but he could worry about that once he finished trying to figure out what he should do with the knowledge he had gained. Briefly, he considered the idea of telling Mori about it once he got home, but that idea was swiftly rejected; he was fine being a dog of the Mafia and using his power at Mori's beck and call but something told him he didn't want the man to know he couldn't die.

He remembered all too well the tests he had been put through and had run on him when Corruption had been discovered; Mori had wanted to know everything he could about it, what it could do, what it's limits were, how it could best be used for the Port Mafia's benefit; this new discovery would be treated no differently. Chuuya could already imagine the kinds of things Mori would want to do and it made him shudder; he'd want to know just what Chuuya could heal from and how fast at the very least.

It was possible he'd also decide to make Chuuya use Corruption without Dazai if Chuuya could just get back up after dying then they wouldn't need to worry about having Dazai stop him before it killed him, and that possibility scared him more than any tests Mori might run. He didn't know how much damage he could heal from, if only the damage that actually had killed him was healed then he might survive Corruption but be left crippled or permanently in agony from it; thus far he hadn't even used it ten times and it had already caused him some permanent damage, who knew what using it for a long time could do. Not to mention he'd probably cause a huge amount of collateral damage to whatever was around him.

So no, he couldn't ever tell more about his discovery and Dazai too was out for similar reasons. Even if his partner didn't tattle to Mori about it, he'd probably be curious about it himself and want to run his own tests. And his might be even worse than Mori's.

He could possibly tell Kouyou, but he couldn't be sure she wouldn't tell Mori; not to that while he respected and admired her, something like this felt far too personal for him to share so easily.

In the end, he couldn't think of anyone who he could tell, in the end, it was a burden he'd have to bear on his own.


End file.
